Winter of the Wolf Moon (25 page)

“What’s in the bag?”

“It’s methcathinone,” he said. “It’s a synthetic stimulant, similar to methamphetamine.”

“Speed,” I said.

“It’s
like
speed,” he said. “Maybe a little worse. They call it ‘cat,’ or ‘wild cat’ if it’s got a little crack mixed in. It’s got the same energy boost on the way up, but sometimes it’s a hard ride down. Paranoia, hallucinations. Seizures, even.”

“So that powder they put in my truck,” I said. “That wasn’t from the bag?”

“No,” he said. “That was good old-fashioned cocaine. Not even good cocaine. I guess they didn’t want to waste any of the good stuff just to set you up.”

“If she took the bag, they must be running pretty low on this, wait a minute, did you say they call this stuff ‘wild cat’? Like the cat’s in the bag?”

“It sounds cute, I know, but believe me, this stuff is a killer. It’s been tearing up Russia for years.”

“It comes from Russia,” I said. “So Molinov …”

“Yes,” he said. “Whoever he is, it looks like he’s testing out the market, see if he can start a little import business.”

“And these two guys who work for him,” I said. “Pearl and Roman? What kind of names are those?”

“You got me,” he said. “They don’t sound like nice guys.”

“What was she doing?” I said. “Why did she take the bag? She should have just run away.”

“We’d like to talk to her about that,” he said. “We know she came to you on Friday night. On Saturday, we had no Bruckman, no Dorothy. Only Alex McKnight. You can see why we were interested in you.”

“I suppose so,” I said. “I was your only lead.”

“I’m sorry it … well, it didn’t turn out to be a very pleasant experience for you.”

“John, you’re moving up from half human to almost human here. Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because you had nothing to do with it,” he said. “I could see that as soon as we questioned you.”

“You should do something about your partner,” I said. “Make him shut up while you do all the talking.”

“He’s better with the guilty ones,” he said. “And believe me, they’re almost always guilty.”

“John, you’ve got no idea where this Molinov guy is now? Or these guys who work for him?”

“No idea,” he said. “But if they got the bag back, you gotta figure they’re not sticking around.”

“And if he has Dorothy?”

Another pause. An awful silence before he said what I already knew. “If they got to her, then I don’t like her chances.”

I squeezed the phone. There was not a word I could think of saying.

“Alex, are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“We’ve got the Mounties looking for Bruckman. If we find him, we’ll try to trace Molinov back to New
Jersey or wherever the hell he is right now. You’ve had no involvement in this from the beginning, right?”

I said nothing.

“Alex?”

“Right,” I said.

“Okay, so now it’s time to let us do whatever we can do. Just let it go, Alex.”

“Let it go,” I said.

“Stay home and stay warm,” he said. “If we find out anything, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, if my partner sees you again, I think he’s going to kill us both. I can’t imagine what he’s going to say when he finds out I told you all this.”

“You mean he’s not right there, listening in?”

“No, I made him wait in the next room. I think I hear him tearing the drapes down.”

“Send me the bill,” I said.

“Take care of yourself, Alex.”

I thanked him and hung up.

Let it go, he said.

I picked the phone back up and dialed Leon’s number.

“He’s Russian,” I said.

“We figured that,” he said. “From the name.”

“Now we know for sure. He’s from Russia.” I told him everything Urbanic had told me, and then I gave him the punch line. “Any ideas on how we can find him?”

“Not that I know of, Alex. Not any way that the DEA couldn’t do a hundred times better.”

“No, I didn’t think so,” I said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you. You’ve got me thinking
you can do miracles now. The way you found Bruckman’s place, and then the way you found Bruckman himself.”

“That was just common sense and hard work,” he said. “With Molinov we don’t even know where to begin. I thought you said this was over, anyway?”

“It is,” I said. “I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “If I think of something, I’ll call you.”

“Thanks, Leon.”

“Good night, partner.”

“Good night, Leon.”

I hung up the phone, put it back down again. Now there was nobody else to call, nothing else to do.

I stood up. From across the room Jackie expressed his amazement at the feat. Then he asked if he could have his phone back sometime that evening.

When I stepped outside, I regretted it instantly. I pulled my coat tighter around my body and went to my truck. I just couldn’t stand the idea of sitting in that place all night again. I didn’t feel like going back to the cabin. The renters were all gone, anyway. I didn’t know
what
to do with myself.

You’re going to drive yourself crazy, I thought. You’re going to keep thinking about this until you’re ready to kill yourself.

I got in the truck and drove. I didn’t even know where I was going. I just wanted to keep moving.

Let it go, he said. He actually said that.

Out of sheer habit, I drove east toward the Soo. Maybe I’ll go to the casino, I thought. See how much money I can lose playing blackjack. I’m already sitting
on five empty rentals at the height of the season. Let’s see just how low I can go.

“There’s nothing you can do,” I said out loud. My voice sounded thin against the roar of the heater and the cold air whipping against the plastic window. “They’re gone. You can’t find them.”

When I thought it was Bruckman, at least I had a shot at him. I had reason to believe he was still around. I had a way to find him. Or Leon did, anyway. But Molinov. Pearl and Roman. The names were absurd even, like something out of a James Bond movie. What could I do with names like that? These men were ghosts to me. They were invisible monsters in the night.

“You can’t find them,” I told myself again. I was in the Soo now, driving north on 1-75 toward the International Bridge.

I seem to be driving to Canada, I thought. Why am I doing this? What am I going to do in Canada? Try to find Bruckman again? What will that get me?

I want to get back at him.

No, it’s not worth it.

Yes, I want to hit him again, with my hands this time. I want to feel the point of his chin against my right fist. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t brought her here.

It doesn’t matter. I won’t be able to find him, anyway. He won’t be at that bar. And besides, I don’t think I should go over that bridge again for a while. Not after what happened the last time.

I pulled off the freeway, just before the bridge. I took Easterday Avenue into the center of town, past the college. There was a hockey game going on at the
arena. Alaska-Fairbanks was in town to face the hometown Lakers. What a long way to come to play hockey, in a place that’s just as cold as the one you left.

Hockey. Bruckman’s teammate. What was his name?

I kept driving. A right on Spruce, another right on Shunk Road. I was going south now, toward the other arena. The Big Bear, where we played our game. The first time I saw Bruckman.

What was his teammate’s name?

When we were in that bar, in the bathroom. Bruckman talking finally, with a gun pointed at his head. A teammate who lived in town, the one who was at the bar when Dorothy asked about me. He called Bruckman, left a message. Bruckman came home, saw the police cars, took off to Canada. Never got the message. He called the teammate back a couple days later, asked what the hell had happened. What did that guy say? He told Bruckman about Dorothy then, two days after she was kidnapped. So Bruckman couldn’t have taken her. But what else? “He was freaking out.” I heard Bruckman say the words again in my head. “Said he was getting fucking paranoid, like they were coming to get him.”

They. He said they were coming to get him. When Bruckman had told me that, I thought it was just something this guy would say because he was coming down off a high, with no more speed to take him back up. But maybe there was more to it. Maybe this guy knew where this stuff came from, and who was looking for it.

Gobi. His name is Gobi. Like the desert.

What the hell, I thought. I pulled into the parking lot. It looked like the Big Bear was having a busy league night. I went into the arena, stood against the glass and watched the game for a while. It was another “slow puck” league game, but this one seemed to have a real referee. Then I went back into the locker room. A dozen players were getting dressed for the next game. They were making a racket, so I had to shout. “Hey! Anybody here know a guy named Gobi?” The shouting made my ribs hurt.

The players stopped what they were doing and looked at me. There was one man who was sitting on the bench, lacing up his skates. “Don’t tell me Gobi did that to you,” he said.

“Did what?” I said.

“Destroyed your face. Gobi’s that little shit who plays with Bruckman, ain’t he?”

“He didn’t do this to me,” I said. If there’s one good thing about having bruises on your face and a bandage above your eye, it’s that you have no trouble passing for a hockey player. “I’m just looking for him.”

“I haven’t seen him since last week,” he said. “I think Bruckman’s team is out of the league.”

“Ain’t that a shame,” somebody else said.

“Do you know where he lives?” I said.

“Nah, no idea,” he said.

“Anybody else?” I said. Nobody did.

I went back out to the rink and sat in the stands, waiting for the game to end. When it did, the Zamboni came out and cleared the ice, then the teams I had just talked to came skating out. About ten minutes later, I figured more players would be in the locker
room, suiting up for the next game. I was right. There were a dozen new faces in the room when I walked in.

“Anybody here know a player named Gobi?” I shouted again. I was already getting tired of this game. I couldn’t imagine how Leon had done this for hours on end.

“Who wants to know?” said one player.

“I do,” I said. “Why do you think I’m asking?”

“I might know him,” he said.

“Either you do or you don’t,” I said. “When you make up your mind, let me know. Anybody else know him?”

He stepped up to me. He was young, not more than twenty years old. There was a shine in his eyes like maybe he wasn’t always on the same planet as the rest of us. “I might know him,” he said, “if the price is right.”

“I just need to find Gobi,” I said. “It’s important. Can you help me or not?”

“For a hundred bucks I can.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

“There was a guy in here a few nights ago looking for somebody. He paid me a hundred bucks for the information.”.

“I’ll give you twenty,” I said.

“No way, man. The way I see it, this guy sort of set the market value at a hundred, you know what I mean?”

“Fifty bucks,” I said.

“He had hundred-dollar bills, man. He was flashing them around like they were nothing. It was my pleasure to help the man.”

“Thanks, Leon,” I said as I reached into my coat pocket. I took a hundred-dollar bill out of the envelope the renters had left me and handed it to him. “Where does he live?” I said.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But Eddie does. Hey Eddie!”

A teammate came hopping over, one foot in a skate.

“Eddie’s gonna need a hundred, too, man. He’s the one actually knows where Gobi lives.”

“Then why am I paying you?” I said.

“Finder’s fee,” he said.

“Finder’s fee,” I said. “This is great. How about the two of you just share that hundred?”

“I guess you don’t want to find Gobi too bad,” he said.

I pulled out another hundred and gave it to Eddie. “All right, that’s it. Now where does he live?”

“Whoa, who’s this dude?” Eddie said, peering at the bill.

“That’s Benjamin Franklin,” the first player said. “Don’t you know your presidents?”

“Where does he live?” I said.

“He lives in a little cabin,” Eddie said. “Just south of town. He had a party one time, invited like fifty people. You couldn’t get more than twenty people in that place. We were all outside standing around in the cold.”

“Where was I?” the first player said. “I didn’t get invited.”

“You were there, man,” Eddie said. “You were just too stoned to remember. That was the night Mike pissed on you.”

“Give me the address,” I said.

“Mike
pissed on me? I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna fucking kill him.”